Condemned

by R. C. Bridgestock

  * * *

  It was 8.30 a.m. the following morning when the team regrouped at the site. Davis was protective of his ladders, and although assured that he would not need them to get behind the fireplace, where his small frame would prove an advantage in the restricted tunnel, he nevertheless took them with him.

  ‘The decomposition of this corpse makes me think it has probably been here a matter of weeks, months at the most,’ said Charley above the loud grinding noise the fireplace stone made when it was turned to reveal the tunnel beyond. Bowing his head, Davis walked into the tunnel with apparent ease. Hunched over, Charley followed. Was that a soft glow of light she saw down the tunnel? She blinked and when she opened her eyes, the light was gone. Maybe it was her vivid imagination, or tiredness that was playing tricks with her mind, as she had slept but a little. Whilst Davis continued his visual examination of the body, she listened intently and when he turned and spoke to her, his thoughts were not unexpected. ‘I wouldn’t want to make an enemy of his killer. This man appears to have been executed!’

  Charley blew air out between her lips, straightened up best she could, and found herself looking at Davis in the eye. ‘Another execution, you think?’

  ‘Most certainly, but this time with a modern-day weapon. I can see he has a remarkably clear circular bullet hole in the back of his head. This has been done, I suggest, at close quarters. The barrel of the gun would have been touching his head. I’m many things, but not a ballistic expert, although I do think that this sort of wound would have been inflicted with a small calibre handgun of sorts.’

  ‘Who was he, and who had he upset enough to shoot him in this barbaric way?’

  Davis turned to her, his eyebrows raised. ‘You’re the detective! However, I am thinking that perhaps Crownest was torched to conceal these human remains? People need to realise that house fires don’t get as hot as a crematorium fire. Human remains will always be found at the scene of a fire, if there are any to find. Time will tell us if the fire was started in an attempt to do just that, and to make sure that any evidence appertaining to a crime was destroyed in the act.

  ‘Whoever started the fire may have not known about the corpse in the cellar, but you’ve got two for the price of one, Inspector, that’s modern-day science for you.’

  Davis was a clever man. He wasn’t wrong, but the only thing that connected these two bodies was Crownest. Two murders committed years apart, yet both concealed in the same house.

  Chapter 8

  The chill in the empty dining room had already cooled Annie’s body considerably, and it was only midday. What she would give to feel the heat of the sun, however weak, upon her skin. Her task, this winter’s day, was to wait with the pathologist until he finished his examination of the body in situ.

  Fascinated as she was by the plethora of changing shadows the artificial lighting created in the tunnel, Annie was equally intrigued by the dining-room’s beautiful woodland mural on the wall, albeit somewhat faded by age and damaged by smoke and water. She slid her back down the rough stone mantel of the fireplace, pulling her wool coat underneath her posterior as she did so, to enable her to sit a little more comfortably on a cold slate of the hearth, where she began to fantasise that the ghostly shadows were, in fact, the souls trapped in the house, not caused by Davis surveying the corpse in the opening at the back of the fireplace.

  All of a sudden Annie noticed a change in the air that felt threatening, and it unnerved her, more so when she began to hear eerie, unidentified sounds coming from the chimney. When she closed her eyes, and hummed a tune in an attempt to shut them out, she swore that she could feel the vibration of the noises floating around her, bouncing back off the walls, and into the tunnel. The sound of Davis swearing indiscriminately at his recording device brought her to her senses, and she told herself sternly that she should refrain from letting her imagination run wild.

  ‘How’d you know for certain it’s murder, Mr Chevelle?’ she called out towards the tunnel. There was no instant reply, and she shuffled closer to the tunnel where Davis was working, for comfort. Head back to the wall she closed her eyes again, and sighed deeply. ‘Relax,’ she told herself. ‘Just relax.’

  ‘Like I told the Inspector earlier, it’s not rocket science when the bullet’s in the back of the head,’ the pathologist said, popping his head out to obtain a tool from his rucksack.

  Annie chuckled to herself, reassured by his voice, even though his tone mocked her.

  With not enough light in the dining room to do anything but continue to wait, she assumed her position with her head against the wall. Closing her eyes she concentrated on controlling her breathing, and on the rise and fall of her chest. ‘Relax,’ she repeated. ‘Just relax…’

  Focusing her mind on the ambience of her surroundings, although a bit spooky, her mind once again wandered. She was convinced that if there was a ghost in the vicinity, she would get a sign.

  After a few moments of nothing, she opened her eyes. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she berated herself. ‘You know perfectly well there are no such things as ghosts!’

  In that moment, she heard a noise coming from inside the chimney breast. Inquisitive, she moved quickly to peer up the flue, half-expecting to see the sky full of ominous grey clouds rushing past in the howling wind. Peering into the gloom she saw nothing but darkness. Then, with a rush of stones that came rattling down the chimney, a bird appeared, flapping its wings frantically. Instinctively Annie screamed, and covered her head with her hands. Small fragments of debris flew in the young detective’s direction, and she flung herself into the opening of the tunnel to prevent being smothered by the descending cloud of soot. Hearing the commotion Davis backed out of the hole in haste, and then fumbled to help her sprawled figure up from the floor.

  With two hands gripping her upper arms tightly, and concern in his eyes, he shook Annie slightly. ‘What in God’s name? Are you okay?’ Convulsed with shock, and fear, with her eyes still screwed-up tightly, Annie found herself nodding her head vigorously, and trying very hard not to cry. When Davis heard a loud screeching he automatically cowered. As its wings flapping violently, the jackdaw flew so close to his face that Davis imagined he felt its feathers brush his cheek. Unsuccessfully, the dark bird tried to land on several unsuitable surfaces, its claws too large to grip anything, before it perched on the top of the door. Its horrible black eyes searched for something unknown.

  ‘I think the sooner we are done here the better, don’t you?’ Davis said, thrusting a bottle of water in her hand. ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor; sip this, you’ll be fine. I’ll try not to be much longer.’ When he vanished into the tunnel, the bird took flight once more, this time into the hallway.

  Eyes on the door, Annie settled with her back against the stone wall. Her nose began to itch, and she blew it violently, in an attempt to rid it of some of the dust. ‘With some luck you’ll uncover the cartridge shell, eh?’ she said to Davis feebly, shoving the blackened tissue deep into her trouser pocket, with a shaking hand.

  ‘I hope so. Nothing yet although, unbeknown to us, it could well be sitting quite happily inside the skull.’

  Annie rubbed her chest. Breathing was uncomfortable, and with each intake of breath panic seemed to rise within her – she coughed, and coughed again harder. A few minutes passed. ‘Can you breathe in there?’ she called out to Davis.

  ‘Don’t fret, I promise you, a little dust never killed anyone,’ he replied instantly. The tone of his voice told her he was concentrating.

  ‘If you say so,’ she coughed again, and again. Annie’s throat felt as if a boa constrictor was wrapped around her neck, squeezing her airway shut.

  ‘Will you do as you’re told, and sip the water I gave you!’ Davis hollered, impatiently.

  On hearing the front door close, and the sound of debris in the hallway cracking underfoot, Annie anticipated that the bird would once again soon be making an appearance. But instead of a bird swooping in, the dining room door was slammed s
hut with a loud BANG! ‘Yikes!’ Annie cried, jumping backwards like a surprised rabbit. Tears blocked her eyelashes, and out of habit, growing up with a mischievous younger brother, she held her breath to keep them from flowing.

  ‘What the hell?’ she heard Charley shout, as she kicked the door open with force, and a size-six boot. Seeing a dishevelled, cowering Annie, she quickly made her way to her side. ‘What happened?’

  Annie’s face turned from the wall to look at her, her shoulders shaking. ‘A bird flew down the chimney and dislodged some debris, no doubt including its nest,’ she said, as she struggled to get to her feet. ‘It unnerved me a bit, then the door slammed! Was that you?’

  Charley shook her head. ‘What kind of bird?’

  ‘A big, dark one.’

  A strange tingling sensation dispersed from the top of Charley’s scalp. It ran along the sides of her skull in prickly tendrils, and she watched as the blood slowly drained from Annie’s face. She heard a hollow laugh escape from her throat. ‘It’s a sign of death,’ she said in a whisper.

  ‘What is?’ said Annie.

  ‘A jackdaw coming down a chimney.’

  Annie looked about her. ‘Stop it!’

  Charley forced a smile. ‘Go grab a coffee. You’re hungry, and no doubt tired.’

  Annie walked towards the door, and Charley gasped when she thought she felt a featherlight touch on her cheek.

  Annie turned ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing, I just thought I felt something touch my face.’ Charley rubbed her fingers across her cheek to convince herself there was nothing there.

  Annie’s lip trembled. ‘I can’t see anything.’ She smiled. ‘You’re probably tired and hungry too.’ The colour had come back to her face, and Charley was glad, but, hearing a loud cawing they were both startled. They both looked up, and then burst out laughing.

  ‘I think I prefer a mischievous Hobgoblin, to bloody jackdaw nonsense,’ Annie said.

  Davis Chevelle seemingly oblivious to the drama, could be heard speaking into his recording device. ‘Attached to his left tibia is a metal plate which tells me that he has been subject to an operation; he is still in possession of teeth, which gives us two immediate stabs at possible early identification.’ Charley sat down next to Annie, put her head back and shut her eyes. She concentrated on the drone of Davis’s voice. ‘The right arm is tangled in the ribcage, and the left arm outstretched on the floor.’ Then with his head slightly bent, Davis walked out of the confines of the cavern. ‘Who’d have thought we’d have two concealed bodies, yards apart, and both murdered, in the same house…?’ he said before he saw their faces. ‘What’s up with you two, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!’ He laughed at his own joke and turned his head in the direction of the body. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind it’s a dump site, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I’m all finished here.’ Davis moved swiftly to gather his belongings together. ‘It’s all yours.’

  Annie looked pensive. ‘I’ve been thinking… How did anyone know the tunnel existed, if it’s not on the plans?’ said Annie. ‘Let’s face it, it was more by luck than management that it was found by Joe and Finn, wasn’t it?’

  Charley shuddered, a goose having just walked over her grave, as her granny would have said. ‘Maybe that’s how it was found by those who dumped the body there too – just by accident.’

  ‘Mmm…’ Annie didn’t sound convinced.

  Davis picked up his stepladders and walked towards them.

  Annie was still in questioning mode. ‘I know we have a full skeleton here, but say we just discovered one human bone. What can that actually tell you?’ she asked as they removed their coveralls at the door.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said, rubbing his face with a crumpled handkerchief that he’d extracted from his shirt pocket.

  ‘Well, can it tell you how tall the person was, for instance?’ she said.

  ‘Depends what bone you found. Say for argument’s sake it was a femur, that’s the thighbone, which makes up about a quarter of the length of the human body. From this I would be able to calculate the approximate height of the person that it belonged to.’

  ‘Wow! I already know you can tell if an injury was caused before or after death, but how?’

  ‘Trauma seen in skeletal remains falls basically into three categories. Antemortem trauma includes injuries during life, and in death, the evidence of healing still exists.’

  ‘Like the operation to insert the metal plate you just mentioned?’

  Davis nodded. ‘Perimortem traumas are injuries sustained at or around the time of death. As in this case, the skull shows evidence of a gunshot wound, and here I can say with certainty that this injury was the cause of death.’

  ‘Could it be possible that the guy shot himself?’ she asked.

  Davis shook his head, ‘Not in this case. The point of entry is directly into the back of his head. Now, if the wound had been at the temple, or if he had put the barrel into his mouth and fired the gun, then that’s a different kettle of fish. That injury could possibly be self-inflicted.’

  Annie frowned. ‘Possibly?’

  ‘Never assume!’ chanted Charley.

  ‘How come not certainly?’ said Annie.

  ‘Although a wound to the side of the head, or via the mouth suggests suicide, I have known perpetrators grip their victim’s hand on the murder weapon, and, shall we say, assist in pulling the trigger?’

  ‘There wouldn’t be anything left above the jaw if he had shot himself in the mouth. I went to one such incident which resulted in our scraping an eye off the ceiling!’ Charley interjected.

  Annie’s face blanched.

  ‘All wounds help us understand when, how and with what they were caused,’ Davis paused for effect. ‘Of course, what they can’t tell us is why. That’s your job to find out,’ said Davis.

  ‘Dead people really do talk,’ said Annie.

  ‘They certainly do,’ said Davis, eager it seemed to get the body to the lab for further scrutiny.

  ‘As a matter of interest, when you were in the tunnel, Mr Chevelle, could you make a guess as to where it ends?’ asked Charley.

  ‘No, that tunnel must run for some distance.’ He arched his eyebrows. ‘No doubt the tunnel will now be the subject of a further search once we extract our man?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Charley. She looked Annie up and down. Annie shook her head, a look of horror on her face. ‘Oh no, NO! There is no way I’m going down there!’

  Charley’s face was pensive. Unable to keep up the act, she winked at the younger detective and her face broke out into a grin. ‘Don’t worry, kid, I wasn’t thinking of sending you. Lucky for you, you don’t annoy me enough! We’ll be calling on the experts.’

  * * *

  With a vast amount of work to do, Charley was more than aware that the media would get wind of something afoot at Crownest very soon, if they hadn’t already done so. An interim statement to appease them would need to be released. This story would shortly be in print, heard over the airwaves and seen on the screen everywhere. Sadly, every journalist wanted a story, the story, and this sort of gruesome headline would no doubt catch people’s attention, and that’s what the journos wanted, because it sold newspapers. Legend, folklore, whatever you called it – these tales intrigued people. Just thinking that some of the stories about this house that had been told throughout three generations could be about to be proved correct, made the hairs stand up on Charley’s arms.

  It would be unprofessional, and slapdash of her, not to order an extensive search of the tunnel, and for this, once the body was removed, she would require the help of the local Mount Rescue Team. God forbid if they found more human remains, but it was a possibility that she couldn’t rule out.

  Chapter 9

  Amongst the team of volunteers on the mountain rescue team, Charley knew there would be people with the necessary experience for searching underground cavities. They needed to be aware that there was a p
ossibility that they could be crawling into a crime scene, although the house may already have yielded all that it had. No matter what, it needed to be searched as a matter of urgency. Ted ‘Gently’ Bentley, she was aware, was the leader of the group.

  Ted was a grey-haired, wily old character with ruddy cheeks and a great sense of humour. Charley had worked with him and his team of volunteers before, in her role as a police constable, searching for missing people on the desolate, unforgiving and dangerous Marsden Moor, whose beauty belied its hostile nature.

  Whilst Annie was tasked with co-ordinating the scenes where the bodies were found, Charley’s next immediate priority was to try and identify them. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered as she waited on the drive for Ted to arrive.

  From the most recently murdered corpse, DNA and dental records would be a strong line of enquiry, along with possible identification through the metal plate that had been fitted to his leg. Charley was confident that the male skeleton would be the easier of the two to identify. Weirdly, she was just as intrigued about finding out the identity of the woman’s skeletal remains, even though the body had been buried a generation before.

  It was dark when Ted Bentley arrived, and obvious that he had just been walking the English springer spaniels. Nell and Wynn lay in the back of his old-style Land Rover, panting heavily.

  Ted’s grey hair was tied in a ponytail at the nape of his head, his wax jacket covered his waterproof trousers, and on his feet he had well-worn walking boots. This, she knew, was his daily garb. He lifted his hand in a friendly greeting, smiling as he approached the DI. She guessed that he must be now in his seventies, but the firmness of his handshake, his agility and his mannerisms were those of a man twenty years his junior.

  ‘Ey up, a young lass like you ought to be out and about with the living, not dealing with the dead and buried. That father of yours would be turning in his grave if he knew you were here.’